


Red Hearts and Purple Strings

by kat_is_going_on



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gangs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Romance, Swearing, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:09:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kat_is_going_on/pseuds/kat_is_going_on
Summary: Roman Prince was on his way to becoming a recognized actor, one play at a time. His theater group was aware of both his hard work and dedication, and soon the world would be too- he was never the one to aim low, after all. It would take time and blood and sweat, but he knew that the moment he chose to follow his dreams, and he was willing to wait.But one day his brother fucked up. Again. Roman though it was going to be just another inconvenience- he'd dealt with dozens of Remus's fall-outs over the years-, but little did he know that it would flip his world inside out. A seemingly simple agreement with a club owner to settle Remus's mess got him involved into the darkest parts of the criminal underground, something that he was certainly *not* prepared for when he shook Janus's hand that night.Would he manage to get himself out before things got too serious and continue his life as it was, letting that part of his life fade away into a mere memory? Or was he already far deeper in than he realized with no chance of escape?
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Deals and Guns

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys, gals and non-binary pals! Just an immediate heads-up that this fan fiction will involve lots of swearing, beating people up and violence in general, and there will probably be some (consentual) sexual scenes later in the work, so if any of that sounds like something that's not your thing or that would be uncomfortable for you to read, this is your warning to look for another fic :)
> 
> I started this fanfic randomly (like everything I've ever written lol) and I hope you'll enjoy it! I'll try to update as often as I can, but please don't be mad if I take some time between chapters- I'm working on several things at once and I'm just one autistic, depressed senior with a laptop that refuses to work at whim.
> 
> Anyway, onto the first chapter! Thank you all in advance for any and all feedback, I appreciate it more than you can imagine. Have a nice day and stay safe. Love, Kat x

Roman wasn’t happy. He really, _really_ wasn’t happy. It was half past three in the morning and instead of getting some much-needed sleep after the previous hectic day packed with rehearsals, he was driving through ghost town to get his idiot brother out of trouble. Again. The manager of the bar, by chance a classmate of his from high school, called him from Remus’s phone to tell him he had got drunk and made a scene, and Roman should pick him up before Janus had to call someone else to do that.

Roman never liked the guy much in school- they occasionally had the same end goal in mind, but mostly they clashed or simply ignored each other-, yet he couldn’t really blame him for threatening to call the cops. Roman had had the displeasure of seeing Remus’s messes first-hand before, and they were never anywhere near pretty.

He slid his car into a parking spot in front of _the Snake Den_ and got out, passing his hand through his hair to try and put it back in order as he made his way across the pavement, legs making quick way as anger churned in his stomach like poison.

Why did his brother _always_ have to fuck up? Though he was almost two years older, Remus didn’t seem to comprehend what adulthood was, or that he himself was in it. He still partied away like they never stopped being high-schoolers, giddy on the idea of rebelling against their parents and burning the whole world down.

Roman had abandoned that lifestyle when he realized that not only did their parents not give a shit about what they did, but also that he was actively harming his future. It was his drama teacher who brought him back to his senses, telling him to his face in no unclear terms that if he continued acting the way he did, he would never realize his dream of theater. She knew exactly which buttons to push, because that terrifying reality where he would waste away, never even having a chance to reach the stars, was like an awakening slap and from then on Roman poured all his energy into his studies.

But it seemed that Remus never got the memo and he continued with the bullshit all the way through college. Somehow he managed to get a degree but never did anything with it, living off of their parents until they threw him out on his ass. Roman didn’t know where Remus got the means to support himself- he had come to Roman a surprisingly rare amount of times to ask for cash-, and he didn’t want to know; he only wished he wasn’t responsible for cleaning up after Remus all the time.

Lost in his thoughts and frustration, Roman didn’t notice someone coming out of the club until he collided with the person, feeling soft fabric on his face for a moment before he took a step and tilted him head up.

“Ah, I’m sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Roman apologized, his heart skipping a beat when he met deep, dark eyes. His gaze wondered over the man’s face, drinking in the sharp angles and the soft lips, before he remembered himself and snapped his eyes back to the stranger’s. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” The man said, so quietly that Roman almost didn’t hear him over the music coming from the club. “I’m sorry too, I should’ve moved out of the way.”

“It’s all cool- it was just an accident.” By everything holy and unholy, this guy was attractive. Roman tried to keep his smile relaxed and not seem like a creep as he said, “I’m Roman, by the way.”

“Virgil.” The stranger muttered, giving him an odd look at the sudden introduction before he looked back, a grimness setting over his features. “Excuse me.”

“Ah- wait!” But the stranger- Virgil, Roman corrected himself, rolling the name over his tongue- had deliciously long legs, and he disappeared into the dark before Roman had a chance to do anything. Roman sighed in disappointment- there goes another one- before he remembered why he was standing in front of a club at three a.m. in the first place and made himself walk into the bar.

Janus stood by the bar, tapping fingers in yellow gloves on his arm in irritation; it took Roman a moment to recognize him- half his face was covered in makeup, made to imitate snake scales, and he was dressed like he played a gentleman of the underground from the 1800s in a particularly strange theater production. Roman approached him slowly, waiting for the man to notice him before he upped his pace.

“Roman. Pleasure to see you again.” Janus said, a tone to his voice that still managed to raise the hackles on the back of Roman’s neck, even after more than half a decade.

“I’m sure it’s not.” Roman replied, smiling tightly. “But I am sorry for whatever my brother did. If you would just lead me to where he is, I would be happy to get him out of your way.”

“Oh, Roman, Roman, Roman. Your _dear_ brother broke two tables and a few _very_ expensive bottles of prized liquor.” Janus dragged the words as if he had all the time in the world, a satisfied, sly look on his face. “I don’t think a simple apology will do.”

“What do you want, then?” Roman asked carefully, and Janus laughed.

“What all of us want, my darling Roman! Money.”

Roman’s stomach dropped, though he expected that exact answer. “How much?”

Ready for the question, Janus pulled out a neatly folded receipt and handed it to Roman. The total amount had Roman’s head spinning- he worked in theater and though his career and job were steady, he was still some heavy work and time away from being able to afford the terrifying number.

“I can’t- I don’t have this kind of money.” Roman said, his voice faraway to his own ears as he gripped the receipt, scrunching up the paper in the process.

“Well that’s a shame.” Janus didn’t seem the least bit surprised, and instead grinned wickedly. Roman was almost scared of him at that moment- this wasn’t the annoying and sometimes pretentious kid he knew from school who lied to get what he wanted, but a man who not only seemed capable of hurting others, but would enjoy it too. “I guess...”

“What?” Roman asked, too quickly, and Janus’s grin only spread.

“I guess you can pay me in other ways.” Janus finished, looking Roman up and down. “You do seem to be in good shape.”

“I’m _not_ sleeping with you.”

Janus’s grin disappeared and he looked thoroughly disgusted, waving his gloved hand through the air. “I don’t want to _sleep with you,_ for fuck’s sake. How egotistical are you? I meant you could do a job for me.”

Roman’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he hesitantly nodded. “Alright. What kind of a job?”

“I need you to help my guys transfer some cargo from point A from point B in a couple days. It’s nothing too complicated, so the deal is really unfair to me, but who cares- I can do whatever I want.”

That sounded hellishly dodgy, but it can’t be that bad, right? This wasn’t some over-the-top crime show, after all. And what choice did Roman have, anyway? He couldn’t pay that bill- it was almost what he earned in a year, and he had rent to take care of, and food, and other expenses. The only other choice was begging his parents for money, but there was no way in hell he was doing that- they would say no and he would lose any dignity he had left in their eyes.

“It’s a deal.” Roman shook Janus’s hand, feeling like he was making a mistake despite his pep talk, and Janus’s smirk certainly didn’t help convince him otherwise.

“Excellent. I’ll send you a text about when and where. I really hope you show up, or else you’ll have three days to pay me back before I stop being so nice.”

“I said I would do it already, didn’t I?” Roman shot back defensively. “I don’t go back on my word, so you can stop being so overly creepy about it.”

Janus shrugged, “I’m merely stating the facts.”

“In an overly creepy way.”

“What can I say? I enjoy drama. You of all people should understand that.”

Roman huffed, “Just tell me where Remus is so I can go back to sleep, Janus.”

“It really is a shame you have a sibling such as him, always pulling you down. But oh well, that’s life. Come along.”

Roman replied nothing as he followed Janus into the back room, immediately spotting a naked Remus whose nether regions someone had thankfully covered with a towel.

“Remus.” Roman called out and Remus’s unfocused eyes searched for his brother until they landed on him.

“Roooooooman, isn’t tonight such a lovely night?”

“It would’ve been much lovelier if I didn’t have to pick my drunk-ass brother from a bar at three in the morning.” Roman snapped out, motioning towards the exit with his head. “Come on.”

“And keep that towel.” Janus added quickly when it started to slip as Remus stood. “I really don’t want it, and I doubt anyone else does either. I recommend you burn that first chance.” He said to Roman, taking several steps away as Remus passed.

“I’ll keep the advice in mind.” Roman said, passing a hand across his face with a sigh. Promising himself he’d make a cup of tea as soon as he got home, he steeled himself for the upcoming drive with a wasted Remus and started out after his brother.

***

The following two days were so hectic Roman completely forgot about his promise to Janus. They had a big show coming up and since Roman played one of the main characters- a middle-aged man making a deal with the son of Satan to return his dead wife back to life-, he had to be present at all the rehearsals, which in theory should have lasted a maximum of five hours but in practice knew to drag on for far, far longer.

Remus had left the morning after Roman dragged him into the house and dropped him on the couch before Roman even woke up, sparing Roman from dealing with him more than was necessary. A small part of him felt guilty that he was so relieved to have his own brother off of his back, and was worried about where Remus would go so hung-over, but the bigger part was just too tired of the repeating disasters to care.

And as they say, out of sight, out of mind- with Remus gone, there was nothing to remind Roman about Janus or the club when he returned exhausted in the evening with only a sandwich and sleep on his mind.

Roman was in the green room taking a breather, sipping every now and then from his water bottle as he flipped through a fashion magazine someone had left on the table, when his phone announced a new message with a beep. It was probably from his parents, warning him that Easter was coming up and that he had an obligation to show up at the family lunch; begrudgingly, Roman reached for his phone and turned the screen on.

The message read _Phoenix Avenue, tonight, 23.00. Be there._ Roman scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion- was someone pranking him?- before it all came back to him. Right. Janus. The job Roman said he’d do for the man. _Ugh._

He had planned to spend the night in a hot bath with an enormous glass of wine in his hand as a special playlist of all the best Disney songs played over his head, blessedly cut off from the world. But a deal was a deal after all, Roman decided with a sigh. The dream evening could wait one more day.

A glance at his watch told him it was half past seven. He should be out of the theater by eight, if he was lucky. That left more than enough time to have a pleasant dinner- if he was robbed of a bath, at least he deserve a semi-fancy meal.

He ended up getting in his car at a quarter to nine; the show-runner kept demanding they do a few lines over and over again until Roman was sure someone was going to snap and bite his head off- it might even have ended up being Roman-, but then he sent them home to practice. Sometimes he acted like one of Roman’s elementary school teachers, always driving his students to give his subject an unnecessary amount of attention, as if they didn’t have tons of other things to do in their lives.

It was like he reveled in the belief that no one was as committed to theater as he was, just because they had to rest and pay bills and maybe occasionally- oh, how shocking- enjoy a hobby of theirs that had nothing to do with acting. But he _was_ one of the best in his field and he did know what he was doing most of the time, which is why everyone tolerated his eccentrics.

“Hey, Patton.” Roman greeted the waiter as he sat down in his favorite seat by the window, taking off his jacket and draping it over the back of the comfortable chair. “How’s it going?”

Patton sighed sadly, twirling a black pen between his fingers. “Oh, you know how it is, supporting three kids in this economy. One could say it... ex-trois-acts a lot of energy from me.”

Roman groaned as Patton laughed at his own bad joke. “They’re dogs, _dad.”_

“Yes, that’s-“

“Please, don’t say it.”

“A-parent.”

Roman’s voice sounded muffled as he put his hands over his face, trying in vain to protect himself from the puns. “Can I request another waiter?”

“Nope, you’re stuck with me.” Patton said cheerily, and Roman heard him tapping the pen on the notepad. “What can I get you?”

“A forgetting pill would be nice.” Roman grumbled, putting his hands down, “but I think I’ll settle for some spaghetti bolognese.”

“Coming right up, champ.”

When Patton left, Roman pulled out his phone, scrolling through his notifications to see if there was anything important amongst the spam.

There was an e-mail from his mother- of course, the Princes were too dignified to send a simple message, how could he have forgotten- telling him that his grandparents would be gracing them with their presence on Easter and that he should be on his best behavior. What that meant, according to his parents, was that he had to dress as straight as possible, not mention theater or any of his interests and nod his head and smile when they told him that it was time he found a real job and a wife and settled.

Family reunions sure were fun.

Roman of course didn’t follow their ridiculous rules, and he knew that they wouldn’t invite him either- Remus was taken off the list years ago- if they could get away with excusing both their sons. At least Roman didn’t appear half-naked with unbrushed hair and a bottle of vodka in hand, and he had an income and manners, however faulty he was otherwise in their eyes.

Deleting the e-mail, he moved on to his messages; there was a new one from his friend, Emile, asking him how he was doing. Rolling his eyes at the barely hidden agenda behind the question with a smile, Roman replied that he was just fine. Having a therapist for a friend was interesting, especially when they were as chaotic as Emile; you would talk to him about a cartoon, thinking that it was just a relaxed conversation, and then later find out that he was psychoanalyzing you the whole time.

“Here you go.” Patton appeared and set down Roman’s food in front of him. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks. You’re coming to the play, right?” Roman asked as he set his phone down and picked up the fork, twisting the spaghetti around it.

“Of course! How could I miss one of your biggest performances?” Winking, Patton hit Roman’s shoulder lightly. “I know you’ll do great. You’re an amazing actor.”

“I hope I’ll deserve that praise.” Roman replied and put the first bite into his mouth, reveling in the array of tastes that spread across his tongue. “Are you up for coffee afterwards? And don’t worry, I got Emile to agree to pay for it.”

“I’m not the one to turn away free caffeine. Ah, someone’s calling me over.” Glancing over his shoulder, Patton nodded at a customer and started their way, calling out to Roman, “See you on Sunday!”

By the time Roman was finished eating- he gave in and ordered desert as well, promising himself that he would skip on pizza night next week and have a sandwich at home instead-, it was almost half past ten. Cursing the fact he dragged on his meal and the coffee he had afterwards to help keep him awake, Roman hurried to his car and put in the address Janus had given him into his GPS app.

When he pulled into a parking lot near the location, Roman decided that whoever had named it _Phoenix Avenue_ had an ironic sense of humor- it wasn’t a pretty street surrounded by trees and there was nothing phoenix-y about it, unless they were referring to the part where the phoenix dies and turns to ash. It was a dark street with half the lamps out of order, a place where you expected someone would jump out at you with a knife and order you to give them your wallet.

Locking his car, Roman started down the street, hands dug into the pockets of his red jacket. He spotted two men leaned on a large truck, one of them smoking as they chatted in voices that rand too loudly in the quiet night; one of them waved him over and he hesitantly approached.

“You’re late, dude.” The man on the left said hoarsely, blowing out smoke before he threw the cigarette onto the ground and stepped on it, putting it out. “Come on, we don’t have all night.”

“We’re just moving some stuff, right?” Roman asked, following the two men as they started towards one of the rundown buildings; nerves danced in his stomach, but he tried to keep his posture relaxed and voice even.

The non-smoking guy barked out a laugh. “Sure. There’s not much to think about- you load the boxes onto the truck, climb in and unload them when we get to where we’re headed.”

That sounded just fine, so why did Roman still feel so nervous? Rolling his shoulders to try to get the tension out, he waited while the smoking man unlocked the door, revealing a cramped hallway empty of anything but the wooden crates that lined the walls; some of them were covered in old, yellowish paint that had peeled off from age.

The two men picked up one box each and went back to the truck, once again striking up a conversation that Roman clearly wasn’t a part of. Unbothered by that, Roman entered when they moved away, trying not to sneeze from the amount of dust that floated in the air. Flexing his fingers, he reached down and took one of the boxes- it was heavier than he was expecting it to be and he had to shift his grip so he wouldn’t drop it.

He quickly fell into the routine of the work- picking up boxes, carrying them out into the cold, fresh night and loading them onto the truck wasn’t that complicated of a task-, and his mind began wandering, going over his lines. There was this specific part he concentrated on- he thought his delivery was alright, but maybe if they changed a few words... Yeah, it would have more of a punch. It was a bit late to switch things up and he would probably have to argue with the show runner, but the man wasn’t impossible to convince- if Roman got a chance to show him what he meant, he was sure he would get approval.

Wrapped up in contemplating how to approach that conversation, Roman didn’t notice someone shouting at first. He was surrounded by loud, theatrical people day-in and day-out who were prone to sudden rowdy outbursts, so when he was busy thinking his brain would only register it as background noise, like it did then.

It was only when he heard a loud bang that he recognized as a gunshot (it sounded somewhat different in real life compared to the crime shows) that he was sharply brought back to reality. His instincts kicked in and he looked around, trying to figure out where the sound had come from, but it was too dark- he only heard footsteps and shouting, with more bangs following, but it was impossible to discern where the assailant (assailants?) was.

He couldn’t decide what to do- should he run? Should he hide? He stood outside the shaggy building, conflicted as his panic grew. Was it best to just stay where he was and hope no one would notice him? He put the box down, deciding that it wouldn’t help, and started to move away, too restless to be still.

But before he could choose a direction to flee in, a shadow passed in front of him and he found himself slammed into the wall, staring into familiar dark eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Virgil hissed, his elbow uncomfortably pressing into Roman’s throat. “You work for Janus?”

Roman swatted at Virgil’s arm until the man moved it away and Roman could breathe again. “I’m paying off my brother’s bill! What the hell is going on? Is someone _shooting_ at us?”

“Not at the moment, but they’re gonna start soon.” Virgil replied after a second, the suspicion in his eyes replaced with caution as more shots and shouts sounded through the air. “Let’s go.”

Tightly gripping his hand- Roman had only a second to feel surprise at the sudden contact before he was yanked forward-, Virgil ran down the street the way Roman had come previously. When he started to turn right, Roman pulled him in the opposite direction. “My car! This way!”

Virgil followed his lead without hesitation, the noise dying down a little as they got farther away from the action; Virgil would pull them into the shadows any time Roman strayed too close to the circles of light the street lamps created.

Miraculously, his car was where Roman had left it, untouched- he dug into his pocket for his keys and tried to unlock the door, but he couldn’t hit the lock properly; to his frustration and chagrin, his hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped the keys on the dirty ground twice.

“Give me the keys.” Virgil ordered urgently and Roman tossed them over; pushing him towards the passenger’s side, Virgil successfully unlocked the car and rushed in, Roman following suit. As soon as they slammed the doors closed and the engine roared to life, Virgil took hold of the clutch and stepped onto the gas.

Hard.

They shot forward into the night and Roman was jerked forward; he barely managed to catch the grip and avoid a nasty collision. After he secured his seatbelt, Roman took a moment to compose himself, repeating the breathing exercises that he used to conquer unwanted stage fright until his lungs started working properly. Passing his hand over his face, he turned to look at Virgil.

“Now. Will you tell me what in the holy _fuck_ just happened? And who are you?” Roman demanded, the authority in his voice somewhat jeopardized by its slight tremor.

“I could ask you the same.” Virgil retorted, glancing at Roman before he turned his eyes back to the road. “You don’t seem like one of Janus’s goons. You’re _definitely_ not dressed like them- where did you get that jacket, Zara?”

“New Yorker.” Roman said defensively, then shook his head- that wasn’t the point. “What do you mean one of his _goons?_ Who even uses that word anymore?”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Goons, muscle, hires, whatever. Men from his gang that do the sort of jobs you were doing tonight.”

“Wait, wait, back up. _Gang?”_ Roman gestured through the air, his hands coming to rest on his temples so he could massage them. “Janus is a part of a _gang?_ What is this, Breaking Bad or something?”

“He isn’t just a part of a gang.” Virgil corrected, making a sharp turn that made Roman’s stomach flip. “He is a leader of one. _The Yellow Snakes.”_

“I need something to drink.” Roman muttered, hitting his head on the headrest in the hopes that it might restart his brain. “Like, now. Wine wouldn’t cut it- maybe whiskey would do the job...”

“You really don’t know anything, huh?” Virgil glanced at him again, a mix of curiosity and pity in his gaze. “Just an innocent bystander, then?”

“I told you already, I’m paying off my brother’s bill. He broke something in Janus’s club and I couldn’t afford the money, so Janus offered me to do a little job for him.” Roman explained, running his hand through his hair absently. “I had no idea about this gang stuff!”

“And it didn’t seem suspicious to you that that ‘little job’ he asked you to do was happening in the middle of the night in a shady part of the city?” Virgil asked, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

“I mean, it did, but this isn’t some action slash crime series, it’s real life. Guys you knew in high school aren’t secretly some mafia bosses that have shoot ups on the docks or wherever. Or at least they aren’t supposed to be mafia bosses that have shoot ups on the docks.” Roman grumbled, then half-jokingly asked, “What was in those boxes anyway? Cocaine?”

“Heroin.” Virgil rectified, blowing his bangs out of his eyes. “But not a particularly valuable strain. I doubt Janus will be hurt financially by the loss of this shipment, though he’ll certainly be very annoyed.”

_Yes, of course, heroin. Silly of me not to know that_. “Why are telling me this anyway? Aren’t there some gang rules or something?” Throwing Virgil a wary glance, Roman shifted a bit closer to the window. “Like, if you tell some random guy your secrets, you have to kill him afterwards rule?”

Chuckling, Virgil came to a stop at a red light. “I’m sure there are, but I’m not part of a gang.”

“You’re not?” Roman continued staring at him suspiciously- he wasn’t about to believe Virgil and then end up stabbed somewhere. “Then who _are_ you? You still haven’t told me.”

“Let’s say I’m a... neutral party. People come to me to ask for favors and information, and I give it to them. Or I don’t.” Shrugging like they were talking about the latest Broadway production and not the criminal underground, Virgil tapped his fingers on the wheel. “They don’t like that second option, but I have insurances to make sure they don’t decide to put a bullet in my head.”

“I still don’t get why you’re telling me _any_ of that.”

The light turned yellow, then green, and Virgil continued driving. “Because why not? And I gather that if you were stupid enough to agree to Janus’s deal, you wouldn’t have the brains to do anything with the information I’m giving you.”

Insult had Roman’s cheeks flooding with color and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I didn’t have a choice!”

“That doesn’t make it any less of a stupid decision.” Virgil said, then his voice turned grim and darkly rational. “And you did have a choice; you’re dressed fairly well and I’m guessing you have a place you live, friends probably, maybe even parents. You could’ve begged the bank for money, begged your friends, strangers on the internet.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Roman stared at Virgil’s profile, but nothing on the man’s face showed that he was joking. “I couldn’t just sell my entire life, and my dignity, over something like this!”

“In a bit you’ll wish that you had sold the clothes off of your back, if the alternative was getting involved with Janus.”

Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of what Virgil was saying, but unwilling to continue the topic because the somberness in Virgil’s voice was sending chills down his spine, Roman turned to stare forward again. “Where are we going anyway?”

“Nowhere in particular- I just wanted to get as far away as possible from the fire.”

“Then I want to go home.” Roman said stubbornly, taking his phone out of his pocket to type in the address. Once the GPS processed it, he put it in front of Virgil. “There.”

“Are you sure?” Virgil asked dubiously, looking at the map. “It might not be the smartest idea.”

“What do you mean am I sure? Yes, I’m sure! I had seven hours of rehearsals today, I had to skip my bath and my wine and my fucking music and my alone time to go move some boxes that were full of fucking heroin apparently for a guy from my high school who’s a fucking gangster for some reason and then _someone shot at me!”_ Roman exploded, kicking the floor with his foot. “So yes, I want to fucking go home!”

Virgil said nothing else as they drove through the dispersing traffic, weaving through it with the expertise and patience of someone who had been doing it for a long time. Twenty minutes later, the majority of which Roman spent ignoring Virgil and staring through the window, they pulled into a parking lot.

They both exited the car and Virgil locked it, throwing the keys at Roman. “Just... be careful, alright? When I said that Janus would be annoyed with what happened tonight, I meant that he would go into one of his cold psycho moods.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Roman asked, fluffing his hair absently. “I wasn’t the one shooting.”

Virgil shook his head like Roman was missing the point. “That doesn’t matter. You were there. He knows to be ruthless, Roman. People get hurt.”

Though he was further creeped out by that, Roman just shrugged. “Yeah, well, I doubt he’ll be interested in me. He’ll probably forget I was even involved.”

“He never forgets.” Virgil said, then sighed, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. “Oh, why even bother... Take this. Call me if there’s trouble.”

Roman looked at the digits written on a piece of paper that Virgil handed him, then at the man that studied him gravely, and simply asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know. There’s... I don’t know.” Virgil stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black jacket and started backwards, the darkness of his eyes even more prominent in the dim light of the street lamp. Something about his tone told Roman that perhaps he did know and didn’t want to answer him, but he let it go. “Goodbye, Roman. I hope I never see you again.”

“Likewise?” Roman said, unsure what he was supposed to answer to that, but Virgil nodded as if satisfied and disappeared. Stuffing the piece of paper into his pocket, Roman went into the building and pressed the elevator button, leaning against the wall to wait for the old, slow elevator to arrive.


	2. Glass and Rubber Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I wanna thank you right away for getting this fic so far despite me not updating for... *checks watch* three months? It means a bunch to me! Truly truly truly. I hope you enjoy this chapter (yes, there is a passing weirdly-dressed enby in there bcs I'm self-indulgent and sad) and lets all raise our water-filled glasses for our mush-man Thomas Sanders finally figuring out he has ADHD- cheers!
> 
> P.S. I just watched Torchwood for the first time a week ago and I'm still reeling. All I have to say is, COE didn't actually happen, it was a joint hallucination, and chaotic bi disasters. Also, shoot me, but I hate Owen, and I'll die on that hill. Anyhowwww, enjoy the chapter! Thanks in advance for all your feedback and kudos!
> 
> Love, Dan x

“Five minutes until curtain!”

_Shit,_ Roman thought, digging through the racks for the third time. He was absolutely sure he had left his entire costume out yesterday evening so this exact thing wouldn’t happen, but when he started dressing twenty minutes ago he belatedly realized his coat was missing.

It was partially his fault; he was supposed to be ready more than forty minutes ago, but their hairdresser got hit by a car, for Christ’s sake, and called from the hospital at the last moment to say she wouldn’t make it. Chaos ensued and Roman volunteered to do her job in order to calm everyone down and avoid having the show runner going ballistic, and the whole thing took much longer than he had anticipated.

“Oh, _come on.”_ Roman cried as the show runner announced three minutes. “Come on, come on.”

It was a well-known fact that something always had to go wrong on the day of the play- someone forgot their shoes, or the main actor overslept, or the show runner lost their marbles-, but Roman tried to do everything to make sure that it was never him that was the cause of the ruckus.

And it wasn’t, until now. Of course that it would happen on the premiere night of a show where he played one of the biggest roles he had ever gotten. Of course. Of- _fucking-_ course.

“Roman!”

He didn’t look around to see who was calling him, too distracted to care, and instead muttered, “I don’t have time for you...”

“Roman!” The voice repeated, and this time Roman did raise his head; Carrie, the talented actress with wheat-colored hair that played his daughter, was running towards him awkwardly, one hand holding up the long dress so she wouldn’t trip and the other hugging ragged black material to her side.

_The coat._ Roman could’ve wept at that moment, but there was no time- instead, he quickly thanked her and ran out, missing his sleeve twice as he tried to regain his calm and focus seconds before the curtain rose. By the time it did, he was breathing regularly and he was no longer Roman the slightly sweaty actor who forgot to pay his rent every other month, but a desperate, grieving man who made all the wrong choices because he couldn’t imagine another day without his beloved.

When the Devil’s son asked for payment in the form of his daughter’s finger and she died from infection, the tears he cried were real. When his wife came back a misshapen and soulless shell of who she was, and he realized that he lost absolutely everything he had and had less than he did before, the quiver in his voice was genuine.

Roman got so carried away that even when the curtain fell and applause broke through the air, he couldn’t stand up from where he was kneeling right away; it took several moments and some very deep breaths for him to get back to reality. When the curtain rose again so they could bow, Roman did so in a daze, blinded by the lights and the noise.

“Excellent! Excellent! Absolutely magnificent!” The show runner burst into the green room, startling everyone and cutting off conversation; he clapped so quickly Roman was almost afraid his hands would fall off. “That performance! That emotion! I’ll tell you, I had my doubts- and they were some really serious doubts, trust my word-, but you did an _excellent_ job Sanders! And that part you changed- perfect! Mar-ve-lous! Brilliant!”

“Thank you?” Roman said, a bit unsure if he was supposed to give an answer at all- you could never tell with the ever-unpredictable show runner-, but he didn’t seem to care as he moved onto Carrie to congratulate her too.

Still giddy on excitement and adrenaline, Roman picked up his bag and said his goodbyes to the other actors and the staff, choosing the back exit rather than the still-crowded front one. Just as he was about to message Emile to ask where they all were, he noticed Louis, dressed as dramatically as ever in a bright pink jacket and crimson pants with a neon green hat on their head.

“There’s the star!” Louis clapped him on the back enthusiastically. “You were great!”

“Beyond great!” Patton agreed, coming over to give him a strong hug. “Marvelous!”

“Please, don’t start.” Roman complained dramatically, though it would be a serious lie to say that the compliments weren’t welcome. “I just had Blaire tell me that he thought I was _excellent_ in five different adjectives- after he told me he was glad I didn’t fuck up.”

Louis shook their head. “That dude’s weird as fuck.”

“That sums him up.” Roman said, laughing. “Where is Emile?”

“You were so _amazing_ he had to go cry in the bathroom for a bit to get it out.” Louis said at the same time Patton explained, “He went to reserve our seat in the coffee shop.”

After throwing Louis an amused look, he turned back to Patton. “At the one on S Street?”

“Yup.” Patton confirmed, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. “We should get going, anyhow- if we don’t he’ll be tempted to start giving out free therapy to strangers.”

“You’re right.” Roman agreed, dramatically offering his arm to Louis; they played along, laughing like a French aristocrat as they started down the street.

The coffee shop was mainly empty (thank god), with only a couple, engrossed in an intimate conversation, and a sole woman with a laptop, busy typing away, occupying seats in it. Emile sat by the window, and when they burst through the door like a gang of merry men (and enbies), he stood up and offered Roman a small bouquet of fresh red roses, which Roman happily sniffed before he started ranting about the play as they waited for their drinks to arrive.

“He _what?”_

“I swear to you, he got stuck in that long underwear for ten whole minutes.” Roman raised his hand to show he was telling the truth, raising his drink with the other to take a sip. “Apparently he thought that it went over the pants and the weapon belt- why, don’t ask me, but he is a bit of a himbo so I guess it’s explanation enough-, and it somehow twisted around and all of the stage lighting team had to get involved to get him out because everyone else was too busy.”

“That’s fucking wild.” Louis commented as the two men laughed. “Had he never seen a period drama before?”

“Carrie asked him the same thing! Know what he said?” Roman took another lazy sip before he continued, “He said, ‘Oh I watched one of those before, but I don’t see how that’s relevant- the dude wasn’t really wearing anything’.”

Patton choked on his drink and Emile exclaimed, “ _What_ kind of period dramas was he watching?”

“I honestly have no idea.” Roman said. “And I’m not really sure I wanna know.”

Suddenly, a loud sound erupted- it was the word gay being repeated over and over again in a solemn voice, the melody of hallelujah in the background. The couple stopped talking momentarily and the woman glanced up from her screen as Louis dug around their numerous pockets; even the waiter looked up, startled, but quickly went back to cleaning the tables, badly hiding the grin on their face.

“Ah, sorry.” Louis said as they read something on their phone and replied with the speed of light. “It’s AM- she says her mom finally left her apartment and she needs someone to comfort her.”

AM stood for alien macchiato, a nickname Louis’s girlfriend has held for as long as Roman remembers knowing Louis; if someone were to ask for AM’s name, he would have to begrudgingly admit he forgot it, if he ever knew it in the first place.

“Shucks.” Patton said morosely, “Guess you have to go then?”

“Yeah. I enjoy y’all’s company, y’all know that, but I mean...” Louis made a tsk noise as they stood up and put on their coat. “AM takes precedence.”

“We’ll always be second place to you.” Roman exclaimed morosely, gesturing widely with his drink, “But alas, such is the world- how can we ever compare to a blue-haired Arizonian goddess?”

“You can’t.” Louis ruffled his hair, and though he swatted at their hands he hardly had anything against it. “Bravo again on the performance. You were truly magnificent.”

“You’re only trying to pacify my broken heart.”

“Did it work?”

“Maybe.” Roman slumped back in his chair, resisting the urge to sit cross-legged on the chair. “But it will never be whole again.”

“That’s a shame, really- or, well, it would be if I cared.” As Roman made an insulted noise, they laughed and said their goodbyes.

“Unbelievable.” Roman muttered, “One time I get them to come out for drinks and they ditch me for their girlfriend. What are we to do now?”

“...We _could_ order muffins.” Patton offered nonchalantly, breaking the short silence. After another pause and shared glances, Emile raised his hand and waved the waiter over.

***

Roman was spent, right down to his bones. And he was happy. So happy that he didn’t even curse the elevator when the door got stuck, but instead took the stairs. Most of the happiness came from the success of the show and the good time he had afterwards, but some of it was also a product of those glasses of wine Emile treated them to as the sun began to set. _Many_ glasses.

So, _so_ many.

Roman giggled to himself as he tried to dig out his keys and decided that maybe he should head to bed before the pleasant tipsiness turned to sickness. Or before he passed out on the couch and predestined himself to wake up aching all over in the morning. None of that seemed real now, though, and he might just ignore the two rational braincells still sober that were telling him to think of his future self and marathon Disney.

Finally he made it into the apartment, noting absently that it was chillier than usual as he locked the doors and started to drag off his jacket; it was probably the landlord being a bitch again, trying to save money by freezing his tenants. Roman had had to argue it over with him several times before, and he looked forward to continuing their endless warfare in the morning. Well... afternoon. _Definitely_ afternoon. A new wave of giggles had all thoughts of the landlord dissipating and he started humming _A whole new world_ merrily, leaning over to get out of his footwear.

That didn’t go well, as one might expect from a drunk man trying to get out of shoes without untying the laces first- one of them got stuck and, cursing in his head, Roman tried yanking on it. Unable to control his strength, Roman ended up putting too much force into it and lost his balance, toppling to the ground like half-melted ice cream from a cone.

It was that stubborn shoe that saved his life.

There was a loud crash and Roman’s blood froze as glass shards from the broken mirror struck his back and his arm, forcing a surprised cry from him; then his instincts kicked into gear and he half-ran, half-stumbled towards the bedroom, barely feeling the pain as he hit his leg on something, wired on the sharpness of adrenaline.

As he desperately slammed the bedroom door behind him, he caught a glimpse of a large dark silhouette. He locked the door, muttering a short prayer to Louis who insisted he listen to their favourite true crime podcasts (he had gotten so freaked out by them that he used a month’s pay to install a lock a couple months back) as he dug into his pocket for his phone.

Nothing.

“No, no, no, please.” He cried under his breath, barely holding hysteria at bay. “You have _got_ to be fucking with me. _Fuck.”_ But no amount of swearing would make his phone teleport from his jacket pocket into his hand- he had to think. _Think,_ Roman.

His door shook from the force of the hit, and Roman scrambled backwards. Making himself not think about it- as if that was possible-, he hurried to his window, opening it and sticking his head outside. Too high. Too damn high, and the fire escape had fallen apart long ago, and if Roman tried to use it he would plummet to his death. If he got out of here alive, he’d sue the fuck out of the landlord who kept putting off fixing it.

Sharp. Roman needed something sharp. Sharp and heavy, preferably. Unfortunately for him, his bedroom was devoid of both sharp and heavy things- he didn’t have enough money to frivolously decorate his entire apartment (yet), so he chose the living room, where he spent most of his free time. There was only the bed here, a few posters, a growing pile of laundry in the corner, the picture on his nightstand...

The picture. Glass. As the door started to give way, Roman picked the picture up, glancing at the group photo of Louis, Patton, Emile and him momentarily before he hastily got it out of the frame and stuffed it in his pocket.

Ripping apart the first shirt on the pile (sorry, cheap shirt he got at that random stall when he was drunk off his ass that one time in college), he tied the material around his hand and broke the glass, taking a large sharp piece into his palm as he moved behind the door.

The beating of his heart skyrocketed as the door broke and a gloved hand shot through, unlocking it; those couple of moments were the hardest, having to stand still and contain his breathing as fear poked at his heart mercilessly. Then the figure stepped in carefully, and when the glass crunched under their foot and their concentration wavered just for a second, Roman saw his opportunity.

He jumped forward, digging the glass into the person’s arm with all the strength he could muster; he heard a pained howl and a thud, but he didn’t wait around to see what was happening but instead shot past and to the door.

But the assailant wasn’t incapacitated as Roman had hoped he would be; instead, he recovered in seconds, knocking Roman down before he even had a chance to try and escape. Roman only saw two bulging, blue eyes staring from the black mask as he struggled to get the hands clamping down on his neck away.

“Motherfucker.” The assailant cursed, voice filled with fury and annoyance. “I got orders to make your death quick, but you just had to go and be a bitch, huh? Fucked yourself.”

Roman choked, the ends of his vision darkening with concerning speed. Air. He needed air. His arms weakened and he could barely lift them anymore, swatting at the assailant’s hands with the strength of a child.

He was going to die here. Actually die. He would die without having made it to Broadway, without having said goodbye to his friends, without having gotten a chance to find true love... Defeated, he let his hands slip to the ground, set on at least looking the man who would kill him in the eyes until he met his fate.

Thanks to that he was able to see a shadow flicker in the background and jump onto the assailant with the speed and stealth of a wild cat; he only saw the blue eyes widen with surprise for a moment before the assailant’s head was jerked back and a gloved hand passed in front of his neck.

Roman barely acknowledged the warm liquid spraying on him as he weakly twisted onto his side, coughing and wheezing in air, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. A dull thump could be heard before there was silence, and then there was light.

“You.” Roman wheezed out, the single word burning his throat so badly that he started choking again.

“I told you to watch your back, New Yorker.” Virgil crouched down, their eyes meeting for a beat of a heart, two, three, before the man clad in black turned to the clump next to Roman. No, not a clump. _A body._ The instinct to lurch almost overtook him, but Roman swallowed the bitterness and stared at the wall until he was sure he wouldn’t throw up everywhere- he may have just been seconds from death, but he was set on not making a fool of himself.

“Deh.” Roman had meant to say ‘dead’, but talking was hard, far too hard, and brought even more tears to his eyes. But Virgil seemed to have understood him because he nodded and moved back to Roman.

“Yes, he’s dead. If that poses a problem for you, you can have an existential-guilt-whatever crisis later, but now we have to move.” Roman barely managed to process the harshness of that before Virgil asked, “Can you stand up?”

Instead of talking Roman nodded, using his arms as support as he tried to lift himself up. He overestimated his own abilities, though, and halfway through he began to fall back down, his balance lost... but before he could hit the ground, Virgil’s hands caught him and pulled both of them up, holding onto Roman for a couple more moments as he made sure the man wouldn’t fall again. Roman’s mind, never able to stay on the lane of rational thinking, noted the closeness of Virgil’s eyes to his own, the darkness and depth of them.

“Do you have any cash here that’s easy to access?” Virgil asked, then when Roman was too slow to respond, his shocked mind still pondering Virgil’s eyes, Virgil furrowed his eyebrows. “Do you have a concussion?”

“Candy.”

“You definitely have a concussion. Fucking-“

His throat too raw to respond, Roman just grabbed Virgil’s hand and dragged him behind to the kitchen on wobbly legs, reaching onto the top shelf where he kept ceramic jars filled with candy. Shaking out the strawberry candy so their packages crinkled, Roman put his hand into it and pulled out a small wad of cash he kept there for emergencies; with some weird satisfaction he waved it in Virgil’s face.

“Yes, yes, I got it.” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “Now move, before more goons come along.”

Roman half-walked, half-wobbled out of the apartment, just managing to collect his jacket from the floor before he was dragged away by Virgil. He only remembered that he didn’t lock the doors when they made it into the cold of the outside, but it was definitely too late to do anything about it then.

A car was waiting on the street, a shaggy, dark machinery that looked about twice Roman’s age. Leaning on it was an even shaggier man, draped all in black with oily mess of hair on his head; a cigarette was lit in his hand, the tip turning bright orange as he inhaled.

“Thanks, Roger.” Virgil said as he approached the man, money quickly exchanging hands when they were close enough to each other. “Consider your brother’s debt paid.”

“Damn good debt.” Roger rasped out, his voice revealing a long-term smoker; his eyes turned to Roman, and even through his shock Roman felt the mocking in Roger’s gaze as he looked him up and down. “Hope it was worth it.”

“That’s on me to decide.” Virgil answered evenly, tone blank, then took the keys Roger offered him. “Get in, New Yorker.”

Roger slunk away swiftly as a snake, and Roman watched him disappear with fascination before he got onto the passenger’s seat. His nose crinkled at the smell inside the vehicle as he put his seatbelt on and held onto the door in expectation even before Virgil shot forward.

A part of Roman wanted to fill the silence, but that part was infinitesimal and had nothing on the part that was terribly tired and acknowledged the pain that was starting to push through the disappearing adrenaline. He started shaking, too, but he didn’t notice it until he heard his teeth chattering; pulling his jacket closer over him, Roman tried to compress himself and, hopefully, warm up a bit.

“We’re almost there.” Virgil announced some time later, throwing Roman a glance. “Try not to pass out in the meantime, will you? I can’t drag you.”

Roman felt more like he was going to die than merely fall unconscious, but he said nothing as Virgil continued to drive. Finally, they pulled into an alley than smelled worse than the car, and Virgil helped him get out.

For a moment Roman was worried they would go further in and head into some secret hideout under the dumpster- or something to that effect-, but instead he followed Virgil out of the alley and down a quiet, calm street of a lower-class city neighbourhood.

They walked until Roman was sure that he would just fall and let the reaper take him- his legs ached badly, and his arm and back were starting to hurt like someone was stabbing him over and over with a sharpened pin.

“Here. Don’t fall down the stairs- I don’t want to have to bury you after all the trouble I went through to keep you alive.” Virgil caught Roman’s hand, causing ridiculously-pleasant chills to run down Roman’s back, and took him off the pavement and down an uncomfortably-steep set of stairs. “Welcome to my humble home, New Yorker.”

Virgil opened the door to what looked to Roman like a bomb shelter from those action movies he was sometimes forced to watch- the walls were bare stone, in places sprayed with stuff Roman didn’t want to think about, it was some ten degrees colder than it was outside, and the only furniture consisted of a bolted-down metal desk, three pitiful metal chairs and a sad lamp that barely hung onto life.

“You _can’t_ live here.” Roman rasped out without thinking, and though his throat was a bit better, he was left to cough as Virgil flitted keys around his hands, the smallest smile dragging on his lips.

“I don’t- I work here.” Moving over to his desk, Virgil crouched down and messed around, standing up once more to push his hands into the wall behind it; curious, Roman cautiously approached him as Virgil pushed the wall aside and revealed a warmly-lit apartment. Without waiting for an invitation, Roman walked past him and looked around, pain momentarily forgotten as he admired the space.

It wasn’t a large place, but it seemed more than enough for one person, and it was well furnished; Virgil seemed to prefer purple, from what Roman could see, and broke the monotony with some black, gold and green. It was bordering on a chaotic Halloween apartment that an angsty teenager would dream of owning, but there was too much taste to classify it as such.

“Come on, I need to look at those injuries so I can go change.” Virgil interrupted his tour and Roman turned, making the mistake of looking him over and noting the dry blood sticking to his hands, his shirt, tips of his shoes. “You look worse, New Yorker, trust me.”

Leading way into a clean but cramped bathroom, Virgil instructed him to sit down on the edge of the tub; he dug into a cabinet, pulling out a box that, when opened, revealed an arsenal of supplies for treating wounds.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Pardon?” Roman asked in surprise, his head jerking upwards.

Virgil rolled his eyes, not even trying to hide the gesture. “We’re not shooting a porno, New Yorker. You’re so covered in blood I can’t see where you’re injured.”

“I can assure you,” Roman started proudly, finding that the more time that passed the less he felt like choking when talking, and went to take off his shirt. “I wouldn’t-“

Agony blinded his as he pulled on the fabric as he always did when stripping, and he folded over, gasping for breath.

“Fuck. Your back is full of glass.” Virgil cursed some more, his fingers brushing over Roman’s back so gently that Roman barely felt it. “Don’t touch anything, just turn around- I’m gonna cut it off of you.”

Roman heard snipping sounds before his shirt was thrown, now in tatters, into the bathtub in front of him.

“Fuck.” Virgil repeated, his tone resigned this time.

“Bad?” Roman rasped out, not daring to move and try to look himself, still riding on the seemingly never-ending wave of pain.

“Yeah. It’s a miracle you’re still conscious at all- adrenaline is a wonder.” Roman heard clanking behind him, and then he was handed a... rubber fish? Before he could ask, Virgil said, “You’re gonna wanna bite on that, trust me- this is gonna hurt. A lot.”

_Great,_ Roman thought sarcastically. Just how he was hoping to spend the night- biting down on a childrens’ bath toy as a presumed criminal took out glass shards from his back. Sighing out, Roman did as he was told.

***

Virgil was right- he needed that fish. And he also needed a couple towels- one to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and one to wipe the tears. Those two, however, didn’t hold a candle to the battlefield that was the bathtub, filled with previously-white towels drenched in blood; Roman was never particularly squeamish at the sight of blood, but there were moments where the knowledge that it was his blood, and the sheer amount of it, made him almost pass out. When he was told it was done Roman didn’t move for a bit, too out of it to process Virgil’s words- he just continued staring as slowly the red in the bathtub turned to brown, his head swimming.

“Come on, New Yorker.” Virgil repeated. “Let me see your neck then you can go to bed.”

It was only when he turned, slowly so he wouldn’t slip and become one of the many victims of bathroom accidents out there, that Roman snapped out of his daze and noticed how tired Virgil looked too. All the colour he had had in his face previously was gone, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes, and there was sweat on his forehead he still hadn’t gotten around to wiping off.

Virgil’s hand reached out, settling under Roman’s chin so he could tilt his head back; his other hand went to his neck, gently tracing over the bruises that were surely there. And maybe it was the fatigue, or the shock that still ran through his system though he stopped shaking long ago, that had Roman’s heart beating faster in his chest as he felt Virgil’s blessedly cold fingers on his throat and watched the shiny hair on his head shift when he moved.

“Could’ve been worse.” Virgil muttered, straightening absently so their faces were mere centimeters apart; when Virgil’s gaze shifted and met Roman’s he jolted slightly, as surprised with their closeness as Roman was, before he took a step back and turned to rummage through his medical box.

“This is a godsend.” Virgil said nonchalantly, dipping his fingers into the pomade in his hand, careful to avoid looking Roman in the eyes; Roman noticed, but didn’t particularly mind- this way, he got to look at Virgil’s eyelashes, the way they threw shadows on his cheekbones. “An ex-client of mine makes them, and they heal bruises faster than anything else I’ve encountered.”

“Ex-client?” Roman asked, his eyes fluttering closed as Virgil expertly and carefully spread the pomade over his bruises.

“Yeah. He wanted out and came to me for help.”

“Out of what?”

“The mafia. This life.” Virgil moved away, and Roman felt a ping of disappointment, unwillingly opening his eyes again. “He fell in love with some normal woman and didn’t want to drag her into the whole mess- of course, you can’t just _leave._ So he knocked on my door and asked for a favor, and I said yes.”

“And they didn’t kill him?”

“They never got a chance, because I’m good at what I do.” Virgil packed his things and put the box away. “He now lives with his wife and three kids in a village far away and sends me these every few months as payment for my help.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?” Virgil finally looked at him again and leaned on the cabinet, his hands resting on its edges, fingers lazily and absently tapping away.

“Why don’t you live in a village with a wife and three kids?” Roman shuffled, regretting it when his back protested. “If you can help others disappear, why don’t you disappear yourself? You could go live somewhere far away and not be involved with this... mess.”

Virgil looked at him like Roman had sprung another head. “Because I don’t want to. My work is here, and it pays well. There is nowhere else where I could make what I make doing what I do, nowhere else where I would be hired at all; I- You know what?”

Abruptly, Virgil straightened and opened the door, , surprising Roman. “It’s time you get some rest, New Yorker. And let me give you a free piece of advice- asking so many questions? Not a good idea. It’ll earn you a bullet in the head faster than you can open your mouth to beg for your life.”

“Cheery.” Roman said sarcastically, sliding his feet on the floor. He swayed but this time he didn’t let Virgil help him, flicking off the pale man with his hand. “I can manage on my own.”

Roman started out the bathroom confidently- or, well, as confidently as a slouching person could manage. He bravely made it all the way to the door before the world spun and his legs gave way, his vision going black.


	3. Coffee and Disney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm an exhausted bean once more so I'm just gonna say- hope you enjoy the chapter, remember to drink water, take meds and eat food (and sleep! sleep is really cool), and thank you for all the feedback and the patience! Comments and kudos motivate me to continue writing so if you ever wanna say anything, be it screaming or keysmashing, know that no comment is too weird and all are appreciated! 
> 
> Love, Dan x

The sharp smell of coffee snapped Roman out of a nightmare. The contents of the dream were already fading as he clutched the smooth sheets and concentrated on his breathing, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t delete the sight of those blue eyes, or of the mangled mess of flesh and blood that was the assailant’s neck.

Where was he? It was dark all around, so dark he couldn’t even see his own hand when he lifted it in front of his face. Set on finding out what was going on, Roman went to get up, pulling himself as he would any other day, and was left wheezing on the bed, trying not to scream from the pain that shot through his entire back.

Right. The glass.

“Okay.” Roman whispered to himself, breathing in and out until the pain begun to dull again. “Okay. That was a stupid thing to do. Let’s try this again.”

This time he tried slowly wiggling instead, letting his feet drop on the floor before he tried to lift himself into a seating position. It took two tries and some internal screaming before he managed it, and he had to stay like that for some time before he dared to stand up.

How was it possible that everything hurt more than it did yesterday? He was aching all over, even in some places that he could’ve sworn weren’t aching the day before. As he dragged himself forward slowly, favoring his left leg and praying that he doesn’t run into something, Roman cursed all the gods living and dead in order to distract himself.

Finally, he made it to a wall, or what he assumed was a wall. It took some searching until he felt a switch under his fingers (dear lord, let it be a light switch). Roman closed his eyes and cursed some more as sharp light illuminated the room, covering his face so quickly he nearly lost balance.

He was in a small but neat bedroom- save for the rumpled sheets on the bed-, containing the aforementioned bed, spooky, framed pictures on the walls, a night table with a lamp and a couple books on it, and a wardrobe in the corner. Something struck Roman as weird about it (not counting the fact that Virgil apparently didn’t use his floor as a substitute for a laundry hamper), and it took him a moment to realize what it was- there were no windows.

Despite it the air was fresh- not a breeze-through-an-open-window fresh, but a reasonably-aired-out-apartment fresh. Roman couldn’t figure how that worked and made a mental note to ask Virgil about it, aware that he was probably going to forget about it as soon as he got out the door.

Speaking of the door... Roman carefully cracked it open, getting an even stronger whiff of coffee. He breathed in deeply, a sense of longing awakening as he slowly made it to the source of the smell.

Virgil stood in a small, open-concept kitchen, hands busy as he whisked something on the counter, his movements halting momentarily as Roman approached before they resumed.

“I didn’t expect you to be up so early.” Virgil commented. Roman barely acknowledged his words, distracted with the purple cup filled with coffee that sat near Virgil... and with the way Virgil’s shoulders moved as he worked. “Or to be up at all, really. You’re tougher than you look, New Yorker... Coffee?”

“Please.” Roman said, glad that Virgil offered so he wouldn’t have to beg, though at this point it wasn’t above him- caffeine sustained him and when he didn’t get his share of it he was a menace for the rest of the day, if his ex’s words were anything to go by.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“You don’t have a coffee machine?” Roman asked, leaning on the nearest wall as casually as he could manage, hoping that it looked cool and not like he was going to fall down if he didn’t have something supporting him.

Now Virgil looked at him, an empty cup in hand, but just so he could give Roman a deadpan stare. “Do I _look_ like I own a coffee machine?”

Roman shrugged his healthy shoulder. “You should invest in it. It’s worth it to have a cappuchino every morning- makes you feel fancy even when you’re broke.”

“I drink black, New Yorker.”

“Ah.”

“Milk or sugar? Before I lose interest, if possible.” Virgil clicked his nails on the cup and raised an eyebrow, as if to prove his point.

“Both, thanks.” Roman looked around, finally spotting a chair and dragging it over, sighing in relief as he sat down. He thanked Virgil as the man handed him coffee, noting that it was still too dark but not caring as he took a thankful sip. “What are you making?”

“An omelette.”

“Oooh, omelettes are cool. Whatcha making it with?” Roman leaned forward, hoping to examine the counter more closely.

“Eggs, mushrooms, oregano.”

“Just that? If you add ham, it’s ten times better.” Roman shuffled a little, trying to accommodate his shoulder and back. “Have you ever tried adding ham? I like to-“

“Okay, listen up.” Virgil spun around, whisk still in hand so some egg sprayed around. “I overslept because I had to deal with you, _and_ I had to sleep on the fucking couch because I was so nice to put your injured ass in _my bed._ So I’m tired, and I’m irritated. And _I hate people._ Do you see anyone else living here? No. Know why? Because I fucking hate people.

“If I wanted to _chat_ with someone at seven in the fucking morning I’d live in a fucking dorm. Know why I’m not doing that?”

“Because you hate people?” Roman found himself ridiculously amused and felt a grin stretching across his face at the frustrated look on Virgil’s face, at the sparks flying out of his eyes; knowing Virgil definitely wouldn’t appreciate that, Roman took another sip of his coffee to try and hide it.

“Excellent fucking deduction, New Yorker. A-fucking-plus.” Virgil finally noticed the dripping whisk and put it in the bowl, his attention momentarily wavering before he turned to Roman again. “Now shut the fuck up before I fucking shoot you and let me finish making my _fucking_ breakfast.”

“Got it.” Roman said, muffling the happiness in his tone with another sip of coffee.

Content that he made his point, Virgil went back to whisking, slicing, frying. Roman kept himself entertained by watching Virgil moving around and sipping his coffee, not even slightly ashamed of what he was doing- the way he saw it, he was injured and hurting, and appreciating a nearby clearly-attractive man was both helpful and harmless, so why deny himself the pleasure of it?

“I’ll give you meds after you’re done eating- they work better with food in your stomach.” Virgil said, handing Roman, instructed to move onto the couch in the living room, a plate of steaming omelette and toast. “I also have to redress your wounds, which shouldn’t take too long if no complications arise.”

“Can I take a shower?” Roman asked, waiting until the piece of omelette on his fork cooled before he chewed it, noting that it was delicious but that it would be even more so if Virgil had added ham in. “I feel disgusting.”

“And how do you plan to do that, exactly?” Virgil bit into his toast and ran it down with water. “You can’t even lift your arms properly.”

“You could help.” Roman sighed when Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make that sound so suggestive- force of habit. Just... I still feel it on me. His blood. His hands.”

Virgil was quiet for a moment while Roman pretended to be nonchalant, taking another bite of omelette though this time it tasted like sand. Then he said, “Alright. You still can’t take a shower- the pressure would reopen your wounds- but we can work something out.”

“Thanks.” Roman tried for another couple forkfuls, then decided he could barely look at the food anymore and put it on the low glass table by the couch. “Not just for that- for everything. You saved my life. I don’t think I thanked you properly. Either time.” Roman added, remembering what happened in the alley.

“You’re welcome.” Virgil said quietly, a little bit awkwardly, and went back to his water.

“I would give you one of my glass bear sculptures, but they’re all at my apartment.” Roman said jokingly, moving a pillow behind his back.

“Glass bear sculptures?” Virgil asked with more interest than Roman expected.

“Yeah. They were a joke birthday gift from a friend that I got a couple years back.” Roman laughed, remembering the carnival, the joy, the speed of that day. “We got high off our asses and Louis thought that we should go fight the bears in the nearby forest- mind you, it was hardly even a grove, and all we found was trash, but it _was_ hilarious.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, it was.” Roman looked at his hands, a small smile on his lips as he remembered the past, then he spotted the blood and the smile disappeared. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Virgil straightened, looking alarmed. “What is it?”

“My apartment. They’re supposed to come by tonight- our monthly Disney marathon. I completely forgot about it.” Roman passed his hand over his face, digging the heel of it into his temple. “They’re going to find the body and the blood- oh god-“

“No, they won’t.”

“Of course they will, we never cleaned-“

“ _No,_ they won’t.” Virgil repeated with such confidence that Roman snapped out of his depressive train of thought and looked at Virgil, at his calm, detached eyes. “They’ll find your apartment clean and orderly, the door locked, the mirror fixed- it’ll seem like nothing at all happened, and you’ll just have disappeared.

“If your friend decides to call the cops, they’ll insist that you went on a prolonged vacation, and by all means it will seem so- your boss will have gotten a resignation letter, and in a couple days your friends will get postcards that will be covered in your handwriting and apologies. There’ll be proof that Roman Sanders flew away to wherever, and you’ll be on CCTV cameras at the airport. Then you’ll have some accident there, and you’ll be pronounced dead, and voila- all nice and tied in a bow.”

Roman was left speechless, watching Virgil as the man casually drank more water. When Roman finally got his voice back, all he could say was, “How?”

“Janus knows what he’s doing, and he’s done this many times before.” Virgil said. “All that he knows is that you by some miracle managed to escape- I’ve made sure that it wouldn’t be seen that I was ever there- and that you’re still around, and he is going to either wait until you are seen or until you contact your close ones to catch you.

“To him this is all just a waiting game, and as far as he knows you’re just a surface actor that got a little lucky- he knows you’re injured, and that you don’t know shit about the underground. If you were killed as was the plan, all evidence would point to a tragic but unsuspicious death, and no one would ever look deeper.”

“Well.” Roman looked back at his hand and squeezed it into a fist. “Good thing I’m not dead, then.”

Virgil didn’t say anything for several moments, and when Roman finally looked at him he saw that Virgil was staring pensively, like he was thinking Roman over. “You’re an interesting one, New Yorker... Let me get you those meds, your back must be killing you.”

“Do you know what his name was?” Roman blurted out as Virgil handed him a glass of water and pills; half-hoping Virgil hadn’t heard him, Roman swallowed the medication, making a face at the discomfort of gobbling down so many pills at once.

Virgil didn’t ask who Roman was referring to, just said, “I don’t.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Roman was talking quickly, afraid that if he slowed down he wouldn’t have the guts to finish asking. “That you killed someone whose name you didn’t even know?”

“I’ve killed many people, New Yorker.” Virgil was careful not to touch Roman’s fingers as he took the empty glass from him. “People whose names I’ve known, people I’d worked with for years, people I’d been friends with since I was a child, people I’d never seen before I stuck a knife in their gut. It doesn’t make any difference, in the end- they’re dead, and I made them so. Everything else is just puny details. Now come on, I need to redress those wounds.”

“I’ve never killed anyone before.” Roman said as he followed Virgil to the bathroom, and only got “Shocker” as reply. Ignoring that, he continued: “I’ve punched people before, and I’ve been punched myself, but I was never close to taking someone’s life... But last night, I think, if I had got the chance, I would’ve killed that man.”

“Look... I’m not a therapist.” Virgil begun to take off the bandages, hands as careful and gentle as ever despite the hardness of his tone. “And I’m not good at comforting, either. But the way I look at it is- he was going to kill you. He almost _did_ kill you. Were you supposed to let him do that? You have a choice to keep beating yourself up over what-ifs, or you have a choice to come to terms with it and move on.”

“I can’t just _move on._ ” Roman hissed when Virgil took off the gauze and caught healing skin, rolling over Virgil’s absent apology. “We’re talking about taking someone’s life here, not getting over an ex.”

“Well, you’re going to have to.” Virgil’s fingers roamed Roman’s back, checking for infection, and Roman, now beginning to get irritated, wanted to kick his mind for foolishly wandering despite everything. “I didn’t save your life so you can spend it beating yourself up in a corner of a dark room.”

“Why _did_ you save it, then?” Ignoring Virgil’s protests, Roman spun around, glaring up at him, eyes challenging. “And before, you told me to call you if I was in trouble. Why?”

“Are you _trying_ to reopen your wounds?” Virgil tried to get Roman to turn again, but Roman was adamant on not moving.

“ _Why?_ ”

Virgil gave up, rising his hands in defeat. “Maybe I felt sorry for you.”

“I saw you slice a man’s throat yesterday like it was nothing, so excuse me if I find that a little hard to believe.” Roman knew by the visible tension in Virgil that he was pushing it too far, but he was starting to get doozy from the meds and his back hurt and his leg hurt and the question of ‘why’ had been poking him in the back of his mind for days after the alley shooting and he wanted an answer to it.

When Virgil wouldn’t provide one and instead turned to get his medical box, Roman grabbed his arm- or well, he tried to. With the same speed that he exhibited at his apartment, Virgil caught Roman’s hand in his, squeezing almost to the point of pain, and leaned over Roman; for the first time Roman was made fully aware of their height difference, Virgil’s height seeming formidable rather than laid-back, and he felt his heart beating faster in his chest at the look into Virgil’s eyes.

“I don’t care what you find hard or easy to believe, Roman Sanders. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” His tone was even but it would take a truly oblivious person to miss the emotion under it. “But let’s make two things clear. One, _don’t_ touch me. And two, I can also redress your wounds with you unconscious, so either turn around, or we’ll do this the hard way.”

Having said that, Virgil let go of Roman’s hand. They looked at each other for a moment longer before Roman gave in and turned around.

“I take it you won’t answer my question, then?” Roman asked as nonchalantly as he could.

“You’re making it _really_ hard not to knock you out.” Virgil muttered under his breath, and Roman surprised them both by laughing out loud.

***

“I take it I can’t call anyone?” Roman asked from where he lay on the couch, fruitlessly trying to get into a magazine article and not succeeding. Throwing it onto the table, he looked at Virgil who didn’t seem as happy to be distracted from his book.

“No.” Virgil answered curtly, flipping to the next page.

“I can’t even send them a message saying I’m fine?”

“I told you before.” Virgil momentarily lowered the book. “They’ll have no reason to believe you aren’t fine. And the moment you contact them, Janus will know about it, and you’ll be putting them in jeopardy.”

“Mmm...” Roman dug his face into a pillow. “I wanna watch Disney movies, dammit.”

“What?”

Roman raised his head to repeat himself, then returned to his brooding position.

“You’re an absolute nightmare, New Yorker.” Roman heard the sound of a book snapping closed, but didn’t feel like looking up. “With everything that happened, you’re thinking about Disney movies?”

“It’s a tradition, okay?” Roman reached for the magazine again, but only managed to make it slip to the floor. “We’d watch a minimum of ten movies and eat snacks and sweets until we got sick from them, then we’d complain until we fell asleep and wake up three times due to dehydration.”

“Sounds like real fun.” Virgil said sarcastically.

“It _is_ fun when you do it with friends.” Roman explained, swinging his arm back and forth until it started pulling on his wounds and he stopped- not only did it hurt, but he risked reopening the wounds, and he doubted he could convince Virgil to help him wash of the blood twice in one day. “Then it isn’t just getting drunk or high on sugar, it’s hanging out, an adventure.”

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to postpone those indefinitely.” Virgil said, though he didn’t sound sad about it. “No social events until I figure out what to do with you.”

“At least that means I’m spared from the family lunch.”

“Hm.”

Roman waited for Virgil to say something else, and when the man kept quiet Roman looked at him to see that Virgil was back to his reading. “You’re supposed to be like, ‘Well, Roman, why do you sound so happy about not seeing your family?’ and then I’d be like, ‘Virgil, that’s really none of your business’ in a grave voice. Then you’d try to poke the information out of me, desperately hiding that you’re dying from curiosity, and after keeping up my defenses I’d at last break down and confess all to you.”

“Why would I bother getting involved?” Virgil only glanced at Roman. “You seem to have no problem holding that conversation on your own.”

“You’re no fun.” Roman whined, “How are you not bored? I’m _so_ bored.”

“I’m not bored because I’m perfectly content to be in my own company. In fact, I enjoy being alone.”

Roman squinted. “Impossible. No one enjoys being alone. That would be... sad.”

Virgil muttered something to himself that sounded suspiciously like ‘Fucking extroverts’ and put the book aside, standing up to stretch. Roman enjoyed the sight of Virgil’s shirt riding up and found it hard to look up when Virgil spoke. “If I get you a Disney movie, will you shut up?”

“I might.” Roman said noncommittally, adamant on not letting on how much he commented during the movies, regardless of the number of times he watched them- this was the closest he’d gotten to real entertainment the entire day and he wasn’t about to sink his chances.

“You better.” With that warning Virgil disappeared out of Roman’s eyesight, returning with an impressive stack of DVDs that had Roman scrambling up into a sitting position. Virgil put them on the table and Roman cradled them in his arms dramatically, earning an eye-roll from Virgil.

“You’re a Disney fan!” Roman accused, a grin on his face as he looked through all the titles, some of them famous and some of them less so.

“I never said I wasn’t.” Virgil countered, digging his hands into his pockets. “I only said it was insane to think about Disney when you were almost murdered last night.”

“It’s _never_ insane to think about Disney.” Roman ended up picking out _Aladdin_ and handed it over to Virgil. “Why do you have DVDs, though? Isn’t it easier to just pirate stuff online like everyone else does?”

“I don’t use the Internet here.” Virgil explained, putting the DVD in. “Getting a protected network and all the equipment is expensive as shit- I’m not going to waste money so I can pirate movies.”

Before Roman had a chance to reply to that, a high-pitched sound rang through the apartment. Whatever it was had Virgil tensing up and turning around before he disappeared; Roman, alarmed by the sudden change in attitude, went after Virgil, cursing under his breath when his stiff body ached.

“What is it?” Roman asked, moving after Virgil into a room he hadn’t seen before. “Are we under attack?”

“No.” Virgil touched something and lights flashed on, illuminating a space larger than the living room, packed with monitors and technology that Roman couldn’t have named if you put a gun to his head. There were also archiving cupboards by the far wall and a desk next to them, clean and orderly.

“Then what’s going on?” Roman asked, not comforted as Virgil typed away on the keyboard. “What’s up with the screeching?”

“It notifies me someone is at the door.” A couple seconds passed and an image came up on a screen- a tall man in a flower-patterned shirt and jeans rocked back and forth on his feet, whistling a tune Roman didn’t recognize. “See?”

“Who’s that?” Roman leaned closer, appreciating the hairstyle, and was pushed back by Virgil.

“One of Janus’s men. Now shut up.” Virgil clicked a button and his voice turned even and cool. “Good morning, Hilderick.”

“ _Morning, Virgil._ ” Replied a smooth voice. “ _Are you going to let me in or...?”_

“Depends on why you’re here.” Virgil started tapping on his leg, a small smile dragging on his face despite his neutral tone.

“ _Professional visit, I’m afraid.”_ Hilderick passed a hand through his magnificent hair, and Roman appreciated how it fell right back into place. “ _So?_ ”

“Give me a second.” Virgil typed away, and turned to Roman. “I need to go deal with this. And because I know you’re going to be a menace, you can watch from here, but do _not_ touch anything- if they don’t kill you, I will.”

“Sure.” Roman said, attempting to nonchalantly lean on the doorway for the drama but giving up when he figured it wasn’t worth the pain. “Sooooo... you slept with hawaii shirt?”

Virgil’s fingers halted momentarily. “Excuse me?”

“Oh come on, don’t even try to deny it, it’s obvious.” Roman smiled slyly and mimicked, “ _Professional visit, I’m afraid.”_

“Have you ever considered- I don’t know- acting like an adult?” As a picture of the dreadful room outside showed up on the screen, Virgil got up and threw Roman a deadpan look.

“Yeah, but the con list was far too long so I put it aside for the time being.” Roman said, then when Virgil just ignored him and walked away, he shouted, “He’s hot, though!” after his retreating figure, earning himself a middle finger and a shouted back, “Don’t touch anything!”

Satisfied, Roman sat on the chair and prepared to watch the show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Homoeroticism? Homoeroticism. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
